Star Wars Infinities: Episode I: Rise of the Sith
by PhoenixUnbounded
Summary: What if? What if the invasion of Naboo had failed? How would Darth Sidious's plans have continued? What would change? What would happen to Anakin Skywalker, if left as Watto's slave? What would have become of Qui-Gon Jinn, if he had never died? What would have become of Darth Maul, if left as Sidious's apprentice? This is that story. What if? Will update 1/week.
1. Machinations of a Would-Be Emperor

The galaxy is at a crossroads. The Galactic Republic has become stagnant and corrupt, and the Jedi—guardians of peace and justice in the galaxy—are dwindling in number.

Pirates, encouraged by this state of turmoil, pillage Republic ports in the Outer Rim. In an attempt to end the raids, the Senate has allowed the creation of a NAVY OF THE REPUBLIC.

And, unbeknownst to all, an evil Sith Lord, Darth Sidious, is manipulating everything in a sinister plot to destroy the Jedi and control the galaxy . . . .

**Prologue: Machinations of a Would-Be Emperor**

The night sky of Coruscant was as devoid of stars as any big city, though there were no cities quite like this one. An ecumenopolis covered every centimeter of the world's surface, all buildings and platforms and walkways. Many of its glittering, durasteel towers stretched over two kilometers from the ground, like knives striving to pierce the sky. In the northern hemisphere, about midway to the pole, lay the Capitol District, which housed the five-spired Jedi Temple, among other things, including the sprawling Galactic Senate and its agencies.

The office of the senior Naboo senator was spare but opulent. An aging, graying man sat by the panoramic window, contemplating the twilit sky that somehow passed for night. His pale, lined face was turned upwards, though his gray eyes gazed without seeing, his mind lost in whirlpool of thoughts, tremors, and visions. The currents of the Force swept around him, bringing him images and feelings of times and places far off. He effortlessly worked his way through them, arranging and organizing events until he found the futures he sought. Once again, his plans began to unfold, but they would do so as he planned this time. He had been plotting, maneuvering, blackmailing, and killing for too long to fail again. His plot would succeed this time; he had a contingency plan for everything. He had worked his way through every scenario, assuring success for every possible failure.

The man settled back into his oversized chair, continuing to gaze up at the sky as his thoughts drifted over to what had gone wrong last time, the events he never saw coming. Seven years ago, he had put in motion his plan to seize control of the galaxy. The blockade of Naboo had occurred on schedule, the Jedi had arrived exactly as he knew they would, and then it was over. Simple as that, the blockade had ended. A technical glitch had caused the droidekas to get caught in their berths, unable to defend the bridge as summoned. This had given Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn the time he needed to cut through the blast door, into the command bridge. Jinn and his apprentice had easily overpowered the Neimoidians, including that idiot Trade Federation Viceroy, Nute Gunray. In a matter of minutes, that glitch had spaced years of planning. The man had enjoyed some small satisfaction in the end by executing Gunray for his failure. He'd chosen wiser, braver men this time, his own apprentice among them.

The aging man turned to his lean apprentice, who stood shrouded in the shadows of the darkened office. His apprentice's red-and-black-tattooed head stayed hidden beneath his hood. So many shadows, so many plots, so much to go right. He handed the man an encrypted datapad. "Contact Jango Fett. I have another mission for him."

Darth Maul inclined his head. "As you wish, my master."

"I will out contact for several days, as a few matters require my personal attention. You must handle Fett while I'm away. Make sure he performs as instructed. Pay him as much as he asks for. There can be no errors this time."

Maul bowed deeply as he backed from the room, into a secret passage within the office walls. "I will take care of everything."

The secret door slid shut and the man closed his eyes. Maul was a capable soldier, though growing faster than he had anticipated. Still, Maul was no match for his power and would unfailingly do as he was told. His plans would come to pass this time.

He had forseen it.


	2. Secrets of the Champion Racer

**Chapter One: The Secrets of the Champion Racer**

He sunk his toes into the plush, gray carpeting, scratching the soles of his feet on the warm, rough fabric. His room was dark save for a few shafts of light that fell in from between the slats on the blinds, weaving a pattern of brightness on the floor just past the boy's toes. The room wasn't so decadent as one might think for a champion racer: a narrow bed, a small window, a simple refresher unit in the corner. It was nothing special.

Anakin Skywalker closed his eyes and felt for the world beyond him, spreading out from the shag carpeting around his feet. Each of the seventy-three lifeforms in the building had their own distinct feel, their own presence. The Dug racer was cold, cunning, and empty, a vacuum that sucked up the life struggling to thrive around him. The Frozian dancer was a warmer sort-of presence, though shallow and pale. There was not much spirit in her, not much hope. The Quarren receptionist was warmer still, but open and vibrant and pleasant. Anakin's mind lingered awhile on him. His mind moved quickly through the hotel, brushing over every life. He didn't know the species of all of them—those he'd never met—but he felt them all anyway. The innocent. The gambler. The dreamer. The thrill-seeker. The psychopath. Everyone.

Anakin continued his mental path out of the hotel, and ran into something different, two presences that saw him as clearly as he saw them—deep, and abiding, and strong. He withdrew immediately, his mind settling back into the quiet loneliness of his room. Ever since Watto had lost him in a bad bet just after his eleventh birthday, this had been his life. The champion racer was nothing more than a sixteen-year-old slave, moved from hand to hand across the galaxy. It was not nearly as glamorous a life as the HoloNet made it out to be.

The soft, double door chime roused him to his feet and he padded to the door. He couldn't tell who it was, and that immediately gave it away. The door opened at his command. "G'morning, Threepio."

"Master Anakin! It's – oh my!" The droid turned its silver head away. "I apologize!"

Anakin grabbed the droid's arm and pulled him into his room. "I'm not naked, Threepio. I'm just . . . not dressed. Now, what is it? Does Jabba want me back out to parade in front of the other Hutts again?"

Threepio paused, and his arms dropped. "No. He has placed a wager on you, with Sebulba and Teemto Pagalies."

His rivals? Jabba had made a wager with his rivals? "What kind of wager, Threepio?"

"It seems that the two of them made a wager Master Jabba could not refuse. If you win today's race, both of them will enter Jabba's service. If either of them win, you will enter their service."

Anakin sat heavily on his bed. "What if none of the three of us win?"

"The wager will be void if any other racer finishes first."

Anakin quickly pulled on his pants and laced up his boots, without so much as another glance at his shiny silver droid, the only thing he really owned in this galaxy. "Where is Sebulba now?"

"He was headed to the garage, to prepare for the race." Anakin headed for the door. "Master Anakin, you forgot your shirt." The droid waved it around.

"I know."

He wanted them to see his tattoos. Since he was first crowned the champion of the Pindim Circuit three years ago, he'd been tattooing himself with his wins, the logo of each race and circuit patterning his arms, shoulders, and upper chest and back. He had plenty of wins, especially as he went back and retroactively added his past wins. If he won today, he'd be getting a new tattoo. He had seven tattoos running up his right arm, crowned by the sharp, fiery wings of the Pindim Circuit logo. He had six on his left arm, leaving his bicep bare, where the TransGal Championship tattoo would be placed if ever he won it. He had three across his upper back and two on his chest, including the shield and quintuple flags of the Boonta Eve Classic, a race he'd won each of the last seven years. Seven stars underneath marked the number of times he'd won it, and many of the other logos were similarly underlined with a two or more stars, but none held as many as the BEC. Those were the tattoos he wanted Sebulba and Teemto to see. If they were going to bet on him losing, he was going to show them just who it was they thought they were betting against.

The podbay was teeming with life and motion, with only six hours remaining until the race. The warm, humid atmosphere of Malastare leaked its way into the podbay, enough so that most of the unaccustomed would sweat profusely, Anakin among them. Malastare was nothing like Tattooine: too wet, too heavy, and too green. The humid air carried with it the fertile odors of the jungle, and the oil and grease of the podracing circuit. Jabba had posted a half dozen of the green, pig-like Gamorreans around his podracer, protecting it from any of his competitors and their continual attempts at sabotage, especially after their interference had led to the fiasco on Ryloth.

Anakin walked around his sleek podracer and its bullet-shaped engines, running his hand along its gentle, sloping lines. This was his seventh racer, and only the second he'd built himself. This one was plated with a burnished bronzium shell, one that winked under the harsh light of the podbay. It bore—as all his other racers had—the blue, vaguely arrow-shaped symbol he was recognized by, and identically-dolored racing stripes. He examined the various exposed portions—the exhaust jets, the tether joints, and the rest—checking that no one had someone gotten in here under the Gamorreans broad noses and done something they shouldn't have. Once done with his check, he dismissed the Gamorreans. They'd be back, once Jabba realized they weren't at their posts, but they were dumb enough to play this game and it kept him entertained sometimes. Besides, he needed two particular racers to find him.

It didn't take long for Sebulba and Teemto to catch onto that and approach him. The former strutted over on his powerful arms, as all the Dugs did. His toes pointed at Anakin, accusing. "You are going to lose, human dungbag," Sebulba said in his own language, too arrogant to bother with any other. "This is my home course, and you will be mine today."

Anakin flashed him a cocky smile. He folded his arms over his chest, sure to show off as many of the race logos as he could, turning his body just enough so that both his rivals could see the starred Pindim Circuit tattoo. Both their eyes flashed to it, if only briefly. "This may be your home, Sebulba, but you can't race anything. How many times have I beat you now?" He started numbering off his tattoos, making sure to pause for each star.

The Dug got uncomfortably close, shoving his long snout up into Anakin's face. "I've crushed you before. I'll do it again. Today."

The squat Teemto, much shorter than Anakin, climbed onto a service ladder to face his rival on the level. He spoke Basic, knowing full well neither of the others understood his language. "It's two to one out there, Skywalker. Only one of us has to beat you."

"No, only one of you has to _win_. Which, I should point out, _you've_ never done."

Sebulba leaned closer. "Two to one!" He stalked off, his new ally following behind.

Anakin grinned after them, confident that he'd done his job. Once the Gamorreans started trickling back, he went to find some breakfast. Jabba always provided meals for his racers, and it was always good food, if nothing terribly expensive. He needed to keep his winning team happy, even if that team consisted of Anakin and two racers who'd never won anything (though they hadn't lost as terribly as some, either). As he piled a plate full of unfamiliar fruits, grains, and meats—some of which he'd undoubtedly had before, but forgotten about—he had the uneasy feeling he was being watched. That feeling was accompanied by one that said he knew who was doing the watching, too.

Anakin let his eyes follow his senses and met the red-glass gaze of a Tusken Raider. He knew, in his head, that this figure before him wasn't really one of those ultra-violent nomads of his homeworld, that the Tuskens never left Tattooine, but this figure cut a remarkable resemblance that unnerved him. Perhaps it was the brown and beige clothing, the dark cloak (though one too finely made for a Tusken), of the red eyes in a face mask too polished and smooth. This man clearly wasn't a Tusken—he'd guess a Jedi, if asked—but there was something about him. He returned to eat under the shade of his podracer, unnerved.

By the time he finished, he saw the boots approaching. The deeper, stronger presence. The Tusken Raider that wasn't. "I have a bad feeling about this," he muttered.

Anakin pulled a spanner to him, and jumped from his place, behind the man. Normally, his reflexes were fast enough to stun the man, but this man was far from ordinary. He spun and knocked the spanner from Anakin's hand in a single motion, sending it skittering across the floor. The man held Anakin's wrist in an unrelenting grip.

"Who are you?" the man asked.

"Someone who at least belongs here."

Anakin stared into the man's mask, hoping the man would look into his eyes. He couldn't tell, as he couldn't see. It was time to pull out another trick he'd taught himself. The spanner jumped from its position some meters away and flew at the stranger, smacking him broadside the head. The man winced, his grip loosening. Anakin spun, delivering a solid kick into the man's groin. The stranger bent double with a pained gasp.

Anakin wrapped his fingers tight into a double fist and brought it down over the man's neck, but again the man was too fast. A leg shot out, and Anakin fell backwards to the duracrete floor, his back smacking violently. The air rushed from his lungs. Before Anakin could find it again, the man had a hand around his throat and a knee on his chest. "Who are you?" the stranger asked. His voice had a muffled, metallic quality, filtered through the mask as it was. "You're no Jedi, but . . . you are strong in the Force. You bleed with it."

Anakin summoned the spanner again, but this time the man caught it without a glance. He brought it down, close to Anakin's nose. He flicked it on quickly, and then back off. "Answer my question."

"You'll span off my nose if you don't? I don't think Jabba would be too happy. You know, we have this thing on Tattooine called a Sarlaac . . ."

Anakin again jerked the spanner in the man's grip. It was enough to destabilize the stranger, and Anakin slipped out from under him, kicking the man's legs out as he did so. Anakin rolled to the side, reaching a quick hand into the man's cloak and finding his lightsaber. He yanked, and it came free. As Anakin rolled to his feet, the lightsaber hummed to life in his grip, throwing a greenish cast onto the pair. From the start of the fight, they'd drawn a crowd and an audible gasp moved among them, awed at the weapon they never expected to see.

"You're losing, Jedi." Anakin's grin wasn't as cocky as it had been for his rivals. This one was more serious, almost wicked. "Why don't you answer your own question. Who are you?"

"I am a Jedi, like my father before me. My name is A'Sharad Hett. I am here on a mission that doesn't involve you."

"Coulda fooled me. What do you want?"

"I wanted to know who you were, why you aren't a Jedi."

"Slaves don't become Jedi."

A'Sharad had no answer to that. The crowd, though it murmured, was hushed. Nothing, it seemed, could break that stupor save for one word. "Enough." It was understated, low in volume, and held all the power in the room.

The crowd didn't so much as part before its speaker as it came apart like a tapestry being unwoven. It allowed a tall-craniumed, white-haired man to pass, a lightsaber swinging confidently at his hip. He stopped before the two combatants, gazing calmly at A'Sharad. "What is going on?"

"I was curious, Master. After we felt his presence earlier I wanted to know who he was."

"Indeed. And what have you learned?"

A'Sharad cast his glance away, toward the podracer. "Nothing."

The Jedi Master looked toward Anakin now, but Anakin didn't dare meet his gaze. "A'Sharad, let's go. We have other matters that we need to focus on."

A'Sharad backed toward his master. "Can I have my lightsaber back?"

Anakin flicked it off and tossed it to him. A'Sharad caught it gracefully and returned it to his belt. The two Jedi backed away, headed out of the podbay, and Anakin's gaze followed them, making sure they left. When they had disappeared, he turned back to his podracer, to prepare for the race. He needed his focus today. He needed to win.


	3. What Collapses in Violence

**Chapter Two: What Collapses in Violence**

One hour until the race. Anakin had spent the time since the Jedi had left tinkering about, then walking around the podbay, checking out his competition, maybe intimidating them (though he'd never admit that). At some point, Threepio had brought him his shirt, his helmet, and his racing gloves, not long before some HoloNet reporters wanted to interview him. He patiently waited it out, answering as he was expected to. Of course he would beat Sebulba. No, he wasn't worried about sabotage again. If he won—_when_ he won—his new tattoo would go on his back, just under the craggy banner of the Andobi Mountain Run. He was ready. Sebulba was going down. The reporters had their drama and left.

During those few hours, Anakin kept checking up on the Jedi, keeping track of where they were, where their presence moved. He knew when they were in danger, when their bright presence flickered and quickened, and felt a surge of victory from the younger, from A'Sharad. He'd been standing idly by his podracer, polishing it for the last time, his mind on the Jedi. They were involved in something serious, something dangerous, and Anakin was very sure they had killed someone. The sense of disembodied dread was new to him, so he first paid it little mind when it intensified—surely it was his own nervousness that had caused it. But, then, there was something else. That feeling was present, in the podbay, at the track, across the city as a whole. It was disconnected from the Jedi, as they felt it, too. It was a sudden surety that something very, very bad was about to happen.

He dropped his polishing rag and ran for the door. Racers, guards, droids, reporters, and everyone else turned to stare at his sudden behavior, but they quickly forgot him when the world exploded. It started as a distant rumbling, a rolling thunder that never ceased. It was a thunder that shook the ground, throwing the ceiling and the floor at each other in clouds of fire. The ripple sent Anakin stumbling at the door, people and debris pressed up behind him. Shafts of red light pierced the buildings across the street, sending buildings collapsing in on themselves. People were running and screaming as speeders zoomed back and forth, avoiding flying debris.

Anakin took cover behind a piece of jagged durocrete, as if it would offer some protection. He imagined himself in his racing pod, the last lap, Sebulba on his tail—the point of ultimate adrenaline, when everything depended on his action, and on his calm—that was what he needed now. He saw each of the small pirate fighters before they came, saw their paths, their targets. Everything. He saw a path out, one that would keep him alive.

In a heartbeat, everything sped up again. Anakin took off running, sliding around the street corner, heading up a piece of upturned pavement, and jumped. The road broke up in fire behind him. He rolled into his landing, his shoulder smacking into a parked speeder. It was unlocked. He climbed in and quickly hotwired it, using the few tools that still hadn't fallen out of his toolbelt. The engine purred to life. Without so much as another breath, he took off down the street, weaving about as if this were a podracer with terrible maneuvering capabilities. He could handle it though. He could handle anything.

The only thing on his mind was finding the Jedi. Whatever happened, they were at the center of it. Anakin was sure of it. They had a mission, A'Sharad had said, and Anakin had this uncomfortable feeling it was connected to the attacks. They would have to know what was happening. Though he could feel their presence, he wasn't really sure how to follow it—it wasn't something he'd ever tried before. Somehow, though, amidst all the chaos of the crumbling city, he found them, as if his muscles and his senses were connected somehow, in some way he didn't understand. Maybe, he thought, there was some part of him that understood this connection to the Force, that instinctively knew it in some way he couldn't.

The Jedi were backing from a building untouched by the attackers, their lightsabers flashing, redirecting blaster fire away from them. He pulled up behind them and threw the door open. "Get in!" he shouted.

They glanced toward him, back at their attackers, and then at each other. Both nodded. Mundi thrust out his hand, palm forward, and their unseen attackers stopped firing. The Jedi jumped into the speeder. Anakin didn't wait for them to settle in before he took off, heading in some random direction. "What's going on?"

"The pirates that have been attacking the Republic's Outer Rim ports have made it here. This warehouse held military surplus. That's what they're after. The pirates are building an army."

"Why destroy the city, though? What could they gain –" Anakin paused for a moment as he swerved past a collapsing section of the street. "What do they gain from destroying the city?"

"They're hiding their motives. After they strip the warehouse of its supplies, it'll be leveled like the rest."

A'Sharad peered at the sky, counting the pirates consuming the airways. "There must be thirty of them up there. I've never seen pirates come out in such force. I only see a few of Malastare's defense fighters and they're no match. They're not equipped to handle this."

"It's a pirate alliance," Mundi suggested. Despite everything, his voice remained cool. "They intend to threaten the Republic in some way. It seems the Senate's decision to form a navy has happened just in time. Still . . . I sense something darker behind this."

Anakin continued driving, but now had a purpose. They needed to get off Malastare, to warn the Republic. He headed for the hangar where Jabba's space yacht was docked. "What do you mean 'darker'?"

Neither A'Sharad or Mundi initially answered. When Mundi did, his words were cautious and careful. "There are . . . rumors, among some of society's less savory elements. They say some of the Republic's higher echelons are involved in a conspiracy connected to the . . ." He trailed off.

"Just say it," spat A'Sharad. "The Council has tried to ignore these rumors for too long. These rumors hint that the Sith may have returned."

The road exploded in front of them, and Anakin barreled on through it, their speeder taking dings as debris smashed into them. The windshield cracked. "The Sith?! You believe those rumors?"

"You know of them?"

"Of course!" Anakin gritted his teeth as he navigated a tricky section of the destroyed city. "I'm the slave of one of the biggest criminal organizations in the galaxy. No one pays us much attention but we see things no one thinks we'll talk about. Someone dressed in a cloak made Jabba an offer of power, via holo-transmission. No one actually took the offer seriously, least of all Jabba himself. The Sith are old legends, horror stories your grandmother told you."

Mundi laid a hand on Anakin's shoulder. "You are sensitive to the ways of the Force. What did you feel from this figure you saw?"

Anakin's forehead furrowed as he tried to remember. "Not much. He was kind of cloudy, murky really. I was afraid of him but I thought it was because – Frak!"

He'd split his attention too many ways. The speeder collided with a flying piece of wall, and both went spinning. The front end of their speeder had crumpled, and black smoke poured out from underneath. The out-of-control speeder slammed into another one trying to escape this disaster, stopping their spin with a jerk. The odor of leaking fuel drifted up. "Get out!" Anakin shouted.

He and the two Jedi jumped from the speeder as a fire started. Seconds later, both blew up. The force of the explosion sent the burned chassis soaring into the air, and Anakin scrambled backwards as it came down toward him. A'Sharad and Mundi both thrust out their hands, and the broken speeder was slammed backwards, flying into the blazing ruins of some shop. A'Sharad offered a hand to Anakin and helped him stand.

"We need to get to our ship. Can you help us get back to Bay M-2577?"

"That's halfway across the city, now. I was going the other way. We'll take my ship. It's closer."

"You have a ship?"

"Jabba does, and I know all his passcodes." He pulled out a comlink. "Threepio. Are you there, Threepio?"

The tinny voice of his droid came back over the comlink. _"Master Anakin! It's so good to hear your voice! There are pirates –"_

"Shut up and listen. Head toward the Dung Hole. I'll meet you there. Bring whoever you can with—but not Hutts, other gangsters, or anything. Just civilians, Threepio, you understand?"

_"Yes, Master Anakin, but –"_

"Just do it."

Anakin shut off the volume on his comlink, and started walking across the broken landscape, the Jedi close behind. He led them three more blocks toward Jabba's docking bay, and the space yacht hidden there. Jabba had long since purchased the entire bay, knocking away the walls separating all the bays to fit his one-hundred-sixty meter ship, the _Star Jewel_. The bay—known by the Hutt's various slaves as the Dung Hole—was located at the edge of the city, on the precipice of a steep canyon, one Anakin would be racing through, now, if the attacks hadn't obliterated that possibility. The bay itself had survived so far, thanks to its position at the city's outskirts, though parts of the canyon wall less than a hundred meters away had been shot to slag.

The view from the Dung Hole impressed Anakin every time he saw it, and he wondered why it had to be wasted on a Hutt, especially a Hutt like Jabba. The canyon was so broad that it almost appeared to stretch to the horizon, hidden in the haze of Malastare's jungle clouds. The bright sun pierced through that fog, casting a warm glow over the entire canyon. Every once in a while, a flock of long-tailed birds would lift from their perches and soar over the treetops, though those birds were in a panic now with the sound of the city falling apart nearby.

Anakin led the Jedi into the Dung Hole, and showed off the _Star Jewel_ inside. It was a mud brown, Ubrikkian vessel, which sloped more or less gracefully to a solid point in the fore. It had only two decks but there was no doubt—from the polished look to the domes atop it—that this vessel belonged to the wealthy. A'Sharad looked at the ship in awe. "You can fly this thing?"

"Of course I can. It helps to have a co-pilot, if either of you can do it, but I can fly it on my own if I have to."

"I can co-pilot."

"Where is everyone?" Mundi wondered aloud.

"Jabba usually stations Gamorreans as guards, but my guess is they went to see what the noise was about and maybe hit some things with their vibroaxes. They're not exactly the smartest people," he said with a shrug.

"And Jabba?"

"Apparently, he hasn't left yet. For all we know, he didn't survive the initial attack at the track."

"We're Jedi, Anakin," Mundi said. "We don't steal."

"And we don't run from a fight," A'Sharad added.

"Thankfully for you, then, I'm not a Jedi. I can run, and I am. You need to get to Coruscant to report what you've found. I can get you there. That's more important that staying around to fight starfighters with lightsabers." He opened the entrance ramp. "You don't have to come with me, but I _am_ leaving. I don't wanna be blown to ashes."

Anakin boarded the ship, then, walking his way down opulent corridors to the spacious cockpit. He settled into the pilot's chair and started the warm-up sequence, hoping that the Jedi would follow behind, and that Threepio would show up before he had to leave the droid behind. He turned his comlink back on. "Where are you? You need to hurry."

_"On the street,"_ Threepio responded. _"I'm still gathering people."_

"How close are you to the Dung Hole?"

_"I'm by the hotel, still."_

Crap. He should have known Threepio would do exactly as he was asked. "Stop gathering people and get here now. Lead them here. And hurry. I don't want to leave without you."

_"Well. I'll be . . ."_

When fifty of the newly minted refugees finally showed up, led by that stickler of a protocol droid, the ship had been ready to fly for several minutes. As they boarded, the Jedi came with them. A'Sharad settled into the seat next to him, and Mundi into one of the spare seats behind. "This is a nice ship," was all A'Sharad said.

"Glad you made the right choice."

Minutes later, the _Star Jewel_ lifted into the air. The moment it was over the edge of the Dung Hole, Anakin tipped it forward, diving into the canyon. A'Sharad braced himself on his console. "What are you doing?"

"Making sure the pirates don't stop us. A ship like this is a very tempting target, don't you think?"

Nimbly, he guided the _Star Jewel_ over the tops of the forest, ducking down over the river, to skim the water's surface. "Hmmm," he said, glancing at the sensor readout. "It seems someone did notice us." He glanced at Mundi. "You should get to the turret. I don't know if I can outrun them all."

Mundi immediately headed back for the topside turret. "There's thirty of them!" A'Sharad said.

"Yeah, I noticed that. But if we can shoot down a few and get far enough away, maybe they won't catch us. If they do, I hope you know where Jedi go when they die."

"I shoulda known this was a bad idea."

"If you're not going to add anything valuable to this conversation, I suggest you shut it."

The whine of the turret firing carried back through the ship. Several shots later, one of the following fighters exploded. The _Star Jewel_ shuddered as it took some return fire from the remaining pirates. Alarm klaxons started blaring. "Shut them up!" Anakin ordered.

A'Sharad flipped a switch, and the klaxons fell silent. "They were shooting for the engines. They want to take us out of the sky. Can you get us out of here?"

"I know a few maneuvers."

Anakin hit the brakes hard. The ship dipped toward the water as it lost momentum, driving ruts into the river that burst toward the shore as large waves. He pulled the ships up just as the pirate overshot them. "Shoot them!"

A'Sharad didn't need convincing. He'd already fired the forward laser cannons, though all the shots went wide. A few shots from the turret followed, and Mundi landed another kill, shearing the wing off of one of the pirates. Anakin brought the ship toward the sky and banked to port, bringing the fighters alongside. "There are more approaching!" A'Sharad noted.

"Get to the other turret. Keep them off our tail as we get out of here. I'm gonna dance this ship all over the sky, so make sure you buckle in. Wouldn't want any Jedi splattered against the viewports."

A'Sharad left the cockpit, leaving Anakin at peace. He focused again, as he had when piloting the speeder, as the two Jedi fought back their pursuers. As they left the atmosphere, seven fighters on their tail, six blown apart below, Anakin called for Threepio. The droid waddled into the cockpit. "I need you to make the hyperspace calculations." The ship rumbled under another laser shot.

"Master Anakin! I'm a protocol droid. I'm not programmed –"

"Yes, you are! I programmed you. Now sit and do it!"

"Oh dear." The silver droid settled into the seat beside Anakin and started pressing buttons. "It seems I do know how to make these calculations. I never –"

"Coruscant, Threepio. Set it for Coruscant."

Another shot from the fighters connected with the hull, and the whole ship rumbled. Something kicked up under him, and he knew something had just blown. "How's it coming?"

Threepio played with his controls for a moment, nonchalant, as if they're about to be blown to the wrong side of the Force. "I've done it. By the Maker, I've done it!"

Anakin pulled the hyperspace lever, and the _Star Jewel_ gave a lurch. Nothing happened for a moment, and then the stars stretched out into starlines. They were out of the way. They were safe.


	4. The Tunnel to the Edge

**Chapter Three: The Tunnel to the Edge**

Anakin had always dreamed of visiting Coruscant, placing it in the top ten of all worlds he one day planned to visit, just under Corellia and Alderaan, respectively. He never imagined it would come so soon, and certainly never in Jabba's ship. Through the long hours of hyperspace travel from Malastare, Anakin's head was filled with all the dreadful possibilities of Jabba or his notorious bounty hunters tracking down him and the ship. He didn't even know if Jabba was alive after the attack—if the Hutt was, Anakin could expect to be hunted for the rest of his life, especially if he piloted a ship as visible clearly named as the _Star Jewel. _As he saw it, he had two options: sell the ship upon landing at Coruscant (assuming he could work his way into the black market for something so large, which he had no experience with) or change all the ship's codes and transponders to give it a new identity. With his knowledge of the ship's systems, only one choice made any sense to him.

So, for the majority of the flight, he sat on the floor grates near the ship computer, using every trick and password he knew to work his way through Jabba's security. One of Threepio's "innocent civilians" happened to be a computer tech with certain less-than-legal skills, which made things easier. After passing a few credits his way, the slicer—one of the blue-gray-skinned, red-eyed Duro—broke through Jabba's system, and Anakin rewrote all the necessary electronic documents. Well, enough to get him to Coruscant anyway. Starship registries still wouldn't have him listed on any and someone was bound to discover that. He'd have to find a way to purchase a fake registry position once they got to Coruscant, but for now the transponders would get him a landing permit. That's all he needed to start with.

The only thing really left to him was to decide a name. A dozen possibilities jumped through his mind in the first few minutes: the taunting _Jabba's Loss, _the ridiculously straightforward _Anakin's Amazing Star Palace_, the whimsical _Scarlet Whirligig_, and the violent exclamation of _Rancor Gutting!_ among them, but they all sounded too childish in his head. Yes, he was sixteen, but that didn't mean he wanted to fly around a ship that shouted that out to everyone for the rest of his life. Jabba may not have been creative with his christening, but outdoing it in the other direction was almost as bad. It wasn't until an hour out from Coruscant that the idea dropped on him, and it was _perfect_. It was him, and his life. Now it was his ship.

_Runaway Phenom_.

By the time the _Runaway Phenom_ descended into Coruscant's atmosphere, Anakin was back in the cockpit, his feet propped up on the console, watching the coal-colored planet gleam with lights like rings of fire spider-webbed in yellow. While most planets had something of the natural system left, Coruscant did not, and the entire planet was lit like the man-made construction the world now was. It wasn't often that Anakin was awestruck anymore, but this time was one of those.

It was well into the evening hours of the Capitol District when Anakin brought the yacht down, settling into a massive bay, one among thousands. That was Coruscant for you. The Jedi agreed to pay the docking costs for the moment, on the condition that Anakin come before the Jedi Council. As Anakin didn't have enough credits to his name to rent out even a tenth of the space he saw no problem in agreeing to their request.

The refugees disembarked together, herded by Republic officials to some office or another, to be mired in bureaucracy for the next several months. Anakin was nearly pulled there himself, mistaken for a refugee by his clothing (which he might have found offensive if it weren't so accurate). A'Sharad got him out of it with a quick word and something that sounded vaguely like "custody."

"You can come to the Jedi Temple with us. Can't have you spending the night in a refugee camp if you're going to stand before Council in the morning. With all the bureaucracy, we'd never find you again."

Then again, maybe that's what he needed to make sure he escaped Jabba entirely. Of course, then he'd lose the ship and be forced to live wherever the Republic felt need to place him. Most of the refugees would be presumably sent back to Malastare, once it was deemed safe, but Anakin's records were nonexistent. The Force only knew where he'd end up.

And then there was the matter of attending to the _Runaway Phenom_'s records before anyone started looking too close. He cast his eyes away from A'Sharad and scratched the back of his head. "Actually, I need to take care of some things first, before I go to the Temple. Jabba might still be able to claim me as a slave, and I'll need . . . well, whatever you call it when slaves are set free on free worlds."

A'Sharad shrugged. "I can help. I know Coruscant better than you do." And to make sure you don't run off on us. He didn't say it but Anakin _knew_ it was on his mind.

"I don't know . . . I think that –"

"You don't really have a choice."

"Doesn't your master need you or something?"

"On Coruscant? Not particularly."

"Fine, but don't get in my way." He was going to have to be very careful to slip this under the Jedi's nose, as absolutely nothing about what he wanted to do was legal.

A'Sharad took a moment to think it over. "All right. I know whatever you're planning's not legal, but neither is slavery. I won't stand in your way. And, believe it or not, I think I might have an idea where you should go."

They descended into Coruscant's depths, to a place where architecture supplanted the last natural thing on the planet: the sky. The man-made canyons of stone and durasteel were darker than any natural one, and even the bright lights of the classes above couldn't reach this far down. Dark shapes moved in perpetual shadows, darknesses that never fled the day. Neon signs and flashing lights replaced the steady glow of homes and safety. Anakin knew this world far too well.

The Tunnel to the Edge was no shadier a place than any cantina on Tatooine, only flashier. Red, blue, and green lights swung above, old holoscreens played images of scantily clad women and men dancing, and jets of water jumped up and down inside smudged transparisteel columns supporting the cracked ceiling. Befitting its name, the Tunnel to the Edge was a long, cylindrical cantina leading straight up to a massive window overlooking a section of city somehow even lower than the cantina was. A catchy swing-bop tune filtered through age-old speakers, some half-remembered recording suppressed under the steady murmur of voices and clunky glasses.

"You know, you may need to wait at the door," Anakin said, as they stepped in.

"What? Why?"

"You look like a Jedi."

A'Sharad peeled off his cloak and outer vest, then tucked his lightsaber up under his tunic. "Not so much anymore. You can't lose me this easily."

"You don't trust me?"

"You're a teenager who recently committed grand theft starship. No."

"Have it your way, but don't interfere. When I tell you to back off, you need to do that. Wouldn't want to have to arrest me, would you?"

The pair worked their way through the garish, smoky room. The tables and corners were filled with people from all over the galaxy, comprising species Anakin had never seen before and never would again. Most ignored them but a few watched their passage warily. Anakin took a seat at the bar and flipped the bartender a five credit piece. "Cometduster."

"Alcohol?" A'Sharad asked as he took the stool next to him.

"I grew up on a lot worse. Do they allow . . ." He shifted his gaze to nearby patrons. "Um, your kind to drink?"

"Depends on who's doing the drinking. It's discouraged."

Anakin caught the bartender's eye and jerked a thumb at A'Sharad. "Polanis Red." He grinned at A'Sharad. "Gotta start you on something weak."

The bartender, a balding, felinoid Farghul, passed Anakin his drink, a fizzy, almost glowing blue beverage. Anakin took it up, feeling its slight warmth through the glass. He took a sip, feeling its sweet crackle along his tongue and palate. "You stay here and keep an eye out. I found who I need to speak to."

It was a trick he'd picked up after a few years in Jabba's palace and aided by his special knack for reading others. As he'd approached the bar, he'd glanced over everyone he'd passed, mentally cataloguing their behaviors and getting a sense of their business there. When he approached the lone Ithorian at the window, nursing his drink while electronics whizzed on the table before him, a cloaked figure stepped out. "What is your business with Gebdon?"

"Documentation."

"Payment?"

"See that man at the bar? The one in the red-eyed mask? He'll arrange for payment however you need. Tell him it's for Skywalker's business."

The faceless figure grunted, but acquiesced, allowing Anakin to the table as he himself went to speak with A'Sharad. Anakin seated himself but said nothing, waiting on the Ithorian. The other man studied him for several moments, the eyes on this gray-brown hammerhead never blinking. "What do you seek?" he whispered, his deep voice reverberating from both mouths.

"Official documentation for myself, my real identity, and for a Ubrikkian _Minstrel_-class." He pulled out a datapad with all the _Runaway Phenom_'s current codes. "This ship. I have all codes and transponders configured correctly but I need something in official databases and registries."

"Which planets?"

"None in particular. Republic-controlled if possible."

"Very well. I will arrange it. I have people who handle these services. How soon do you require them?"

"As quickly as our payment arrangements allow." He took another sip of the Cometduster, savoring the shock on his tongue.

Gebdon entered a few pieces of information onto his computer. "I'll need to gather some personal info you'd like to show up. I don't care if it's real or not, but anything you don't fill in will be left to the discretion of my people."

The rest of their discussion lasted less than twenty minutes, as Anakin related nearly complete personal information about himself—or, at least, as real as he knew. He chose to list Shmi as his mother, still, though he hadn't seen her in nearly two years. He had needed to change her profession to personal aide from slave. It was close enough for the record. However, when it came time to discuss his father, Anakin started making stuff up on the spot, going back to fantasies and daydreams he'd had when he was younger. His nonexistent father (as his mother insisted) was now real on paper: Bron Skywalker, itinerate spacer, killed in service when Anakin was three. He kept Tatooine as his homeworld, despite not being born there, because he wasn't sure where he'd really been born. And a backwater, non-Republic world made it easier to lose key bits of official documentation and not look suspicious.

At some point, a bar brawl broke out, which might very well have been an everyday occurrence down here, at the Tunnel to the Edge. Fists and people were flying. A holoscreen erupted in a bright flash and a shower of sparks. A'Sharad and the cloaked figure waded out of it, though not before the former sent a man flying over the bar. "Do not drag me into this!" he yelled, thrusting a finger at the man.

Gebdon shifted nervously in his seat, eyeing the surging mass of bodies. Anakin forced the Ithorian to meet his gaze. In his mind, he was tuning out the brawl, willing it all but to disappear. "Focus on me. It'll be all right."

"It will be all right."

"There's nothing over there to be worried about. We have work to do."

"We have work to do."

Anakin had done this before, to focus or distract, and once or twice to steal food from Jabba's kitchens. It was an odd thing, having such power of suggestion. At one time, when he was younger, he had thought this was a natural charm but since he'd put a label to his other gifts—extraordinary coordination, perception to the point of clairvoyance, telekinesis—as the Force, he'd wondered how much this mysterious energy field was playing with others' minds. He didn't know if he much cared, though parted of him wanted it the same way part of him longed to be a Jedi: for the excitement of it. For the adventure.

At this moment, though, none of that mattered. It got Gebdon to settle down, and that was all he needed. By the time he left the Ithorian's table, the brawl had settled into cleanup of the mess. And Anakin left the flashing lights feeling as if he'd bared his life to a stranger. It left him in an odd state, as if he suddenly realized that, for the first time in his memory, he was free. A'Sharad apparently noticed it as he followed Anakin from the boisterous cantina. "What happened? Did you get it all sorted out?"

Anakin nodded. "In four days, I'll be a free man with records to prove it."

"We might need that proof, or I'll have to explain to the Council why I just transferred four thousand credits to a sequestered bank account while also paying for some foul-tasting alcohol. If that's the price of your freedom, though, I don't see how they'll complain."


	5. The Judgment of Anakin Skywalker

**Chapter Four: The Judgment of Anakin Skywalker**

It was almost a full day before the Council asked to see Anakin. He spent most of it with A'Sharad, the Padawan giving him a tour of the Temple grounds and the surrounding areas in Coruscant's spacious, glittering Capitol District. Even within the halls of the relatively spare Jedi Temple hung tapestries and stood statues that were more valuable than entire planets he'd visited. A little urging in his heart pushed him to take things, small things that he could find valuable: crystals, silverware, and clothing, among others. He fought these temptations, if only because he didn't know how long he'd be at the temple and he didn't want to arouse any suspicions yet—who else did they have to blame? Everyone else on the grounds was a Jedi or working with them. It was hard, sometimes, when no one was looking, to beat back that urge, but he forced himself to. Anakin stepped before the Council with a clean conscience.

The Council chamber was a round room at the top of the Temple's tallest spire, overlooking the surrounding city out to the horizon. The room was ringed by massive floor-to-ceiling windows, granting an unobstructed view of the skyline. He experienced a moment of vertigo, something he never had before, as the entire city seemed to be laid out right under his feet. And, here, on Coruscant, that city was the whole world.

Mundi touched his elbow to steady him. "Are you all right?"

Anakin brushed him away. "Yeah, thanks. Just didn't expect this view."

"Impressive it is," said a high, gravelly voice. "Forget it, we masters do, up here everyday. Remind us of it, you have."

Anakin walked into the circle of Jedi Masters, trying to figure out which one it was that had spoken. But he knew. It was the tiny, shriveled, pale green man with the long pointed ears and the tufts of white hair. This one perched on his chair, hands folded in front of him, watching Anakin with keen, green eyes. Something about him commanded immediate respect. For some reason, Anakin felt the need to bow, as if before a king. He did so.

The green man chuckled. "Jedi masters we are, not kings. Bow, you need not."

He straightened, and his face flushed. The green man noticed this too. "Ah, embarrassed you are. Tell us why."

"I, uh, I guess it was supposed to be respectful. I didn't know that, um, I wasn't supposed to."

"What is your name, son?" asked the bald, dark-skinned man to the green man's right.

"Anakin Skywalker. What's yours?" That came out sounding more confrontational than he intended. He wasn't even sure he could hear his own words anymore, over the thundering of his heart.

"Mace Windu." He gestured to the green man. "This is Master Yoda."

"Uh, thanks. Nice to meet you, I guess." Anakin couldn't figure out why he was so nervous. Jabba never scared him as much as these Jedi did.

"Afraid you are."

"I'm not scared."

"Don't lie to us," Windu said. "We're Jedi."

"Even you don't know everything." Even as Anakin said those words, though, he doubted them. They were the masters—the best of the best—maybe, just maybe, they _could_.

"Confident, this one is. Thinks he knows better than the Jedi he does." Anakin couldn't tell if Yoda was amused or put off. He _should_ be put off, Anakin thought, but it the words came out almost with a chuckle.

"Listen, the Jedi haven't helped me one bit for the years I was a slave. In fact, Master Mundi is only here now because _I_ helped him escape."

"There is no need to be angry," Mundi said as he took his seat in the circle. "We are only attempting to evaluate you. And I do offer my thanks for helping my Padawan and I leave Malastare."

"I'm not angry. I'm . . . well, I'm not sure what I am."

"Your feelings you must search. Only then can you tell us what you feel."

Anakin took a breath, calmed his racing heart, and looked inward. Yes, his heart had been racing with nervousness, facing their wisdom and power, but there was something more . . . Why had he responded with criticism to Yoda's evaluation? It was spot on, wasn't it? And then he had it. If Anakin knew they were spot on, what more could they offer him? It sounded silly when he thought about it. It was one comment—certainly he could give them a little more time before he passed judgment on them.

"Mmm? Your feelings you have found."

"I . . . I rushed to judgment. I was nervous and I wanted you to see the best side of me. I didn't like that you saw something else."

"A Jedi you are not. Time you will need to learn to be one." Yoda fished around beside him on the chair and pulled up a paddle. "First, test you we must."

Yoda touched a button on the paddle's side, and a light flashed from it. An image flickered on a screen, reflecting back on Yoda's wide eyes. "It's a blaster," Anakin said.

Windu's eyes widened, and he glanced at his fellow masters. He didn't comment, though, and so Anakin felt the need to. The last thing he needed was for the Jedi to accuse him of cheating, especially after he'd fought the urge to be a thief all day. Anakin shrugged and pointed off-handedly to Yoda. "It's reflected in his eyes. I learned to play this game at Jabba's palace."

Windu's and Mundi's gazes met. "That is quite the talent, Anakin," Mundi said. "Your senses must be very sharp."

"They have to be to podrace."

"We need to test your other senses," Windu said. "If you'll please turn around."

Anakin nodded and did as he was told, bowing his head and closing his eyes as he did so. Everyone would see him being honest. "What do you see now?" Mundi asked.

Anakin focused, mentally locating the paddle as he did when he telekinetically moved objects. How did he look at it, though? Windu and Yoda were looking at it—maybe he could tap into their senses? He brushed their minds, but was blocked out. Of course he was—what had he been thinking?

"What are you doing?" Windu asked. And of course Windu had felt him reaching out with the Force.

"Trying to figure out the answer."

"Mmmm. Guide you, the Force will. Listen. Whisper the answers, it will. Your instincts you should trust."

His instincts? They wanted him to guess? "Uh, a box?"

"Again," said Windu.

Was he wrong? He spouted off the first thought that came to his mind: "A starship."

"Again."

"A tree."

"Again."

"Spanner. Is this even working? I could keep guessing all day and never get the answer right." He turned around and shrugged. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm doing."

"You got every answer right," Windu said.

"That was a spectacular reaction time," said the Kel Dor master. His voice had a mechanical edge through his dark, angular breath mask. "Unparalleled."

"I'm a pilot."

"You could be a Jedi," said Mundi.

"Fish."

"What?" asked Windu. His eyebrows drew down over his eyes.

Anakin gestured at Yoda again. "He changed the picture." Now he was just showing off, but he was feeling ecstatic. Somehow, in some way, he'd identified the images without seeing them. He'd impressed the Council.

"Hmm. Leave us you may. Discuss this we will."

Anakin nodded and turned away. He walked toward the lift, then turned back before entering. "Thank you," he said. "For this chance." He didn't know if it made a difference, but it was something. Maybe he actually had a shot at this.

"He is too old," Windu said. He leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his folded hands. "There is much conflict in him."

"We haven't seen anyone with such power in years," said Saesee Tiin. The long-horned Iktochi Master frowned. "Can we turn him away? He may already know enough to be a danger He could fall to the dark side."

"We must prevent that above all," said Windu, "but I am not sure he can be a Jedi. Training him now may put him at even greater risk."

The Council debated for another half hour, measuring the pros and cons of both sides. Both options had their risks but everyone could sense that Anakin was much too powerful to just abandon completely. Still, others did not see the risk as worth it. At a vote at the end, it came out tied: Mundi, Tiin, Piell, Ti, and Koon in support of Anakin joining the order, while Windu, Rancisis, Poof, Koth, and Billaba voted against. Master Gallia was absent. All looked to Yoda for his decision. They all knew it was his sage advice that would decide Anakin's ultimate fate.

"It seems we are at an impasse," said Mundi. "What do you propose, Master Yoda?"

"If trained by the Council young Skywalker cannot be, then fall to the dark side he may. If not trained by the Jedi, still to the dark side might he fall. Most troubling of problems it is. But presents itself one solution does: by a Master not on this Council must he be trained. Unorthodox ways must this master have. A perfect fit they will be."

"Qui-Gon Jinn." That came from Windu, his eyes narrowed in thought.

"Indeed," Mundi added.

And so, the Jedi Council had decided the fate of Anakin Skywalker. He would be trained as a Jedi under the tutelage of rogue master Qui-Gon Jinn. Of course, Qui-Gon would still have to accept him. After what happened with Xanatos, and then Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon might not be so eager to have a new apprentice. Only time, and the Force, would tell.

A'Sharad found Anakin in his temporary quarters, sitting on his bed, bare feet pressed to the cold floor. It was a small room, with a bed, dresser, refresher unit, and a holo display—vague and suited for most bipedal creatures. Anakin's eyes were closed and he looked to be meditating, as his features were softer and much less tense than A'Sharad had seen them. He didn't want to interrupt, but he felt he should. It's what Anakin had been waiting for.

"Sorry, Anakin, but the Council has made their decision."

Anakin didn't respond for a moment, and A'Sharad was about to try again when Anakin looked up, his eyes opening. "And?"

"You're going to be a Jedi."

Anakin's shoulder's slumped but with either relief or disappointment, A'Sharad could not tell. "I'm going to be a Jedi." He glanced up at A'Sharad, then back to his feet. "You sure?"

"I think so. Every Jedi apprentice, a Padawan, is chosen by a master but because of your situation, as old as you are to start training, they are assigning you a master instead. Qui-Gon Jinn. He's something of a rogue within the Order, especially since his previous Padawan . . . well, I'll leave that to him. He should tell you these things."

"When do I get to meet him?"

"He still has to accept you. The Council can't force him to train you, not that they could force Qui-Gon to do anything. He's on assignment to Naboo right now, but the Council gave us permission to head out there and meet him."

"Wait, 'we'?"

"The Council doesn't want you flying around unattended. I'm not sure why. If you run off, obviously you're not cut for this Jedi role. I'm coming with."

"And your master?"

A'Sharad shrugged. "He trusts me to handle this. He and the Council still need to focus on the pirate situation. It's causing an uproar in the Senate."

"When do we leave?"

"When can you get your ship into the air?"

**AN: I apologize for the lack of updates these last few weeks. I have not forgotten about this story! School has just been kicking my butt. Updates should more or less return on schedule.**


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